


Playing Santa

by Blissaster



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bat Family, Family, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Misunderstandings, Stupidity, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blissaster/pseuds/Blissaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Todd was what Dickie wanted for Christmas, then it was Todd he would get. Damian would make sure of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How It Starts

**Author's Note:**

> **Thanks to:** As always, my dear lovely beta, **BookJunkie** of FFn without whom this little baby wouldn't be as good. This one is for you, girl! :)

**December 1**

A hand on his hip and his gray-blue eyes narrowed in a fierce glare, Damian scowled at the word 'December' written in neat black letters at the top of the calendar on his wall.

It felt like only yesterday that he had had to endure this accursed month.

Damian had nothing against December. Truly. It was not like he hated it or anything, because that would be silly, not to mention  _childish_. And he was anything but. It was just…

His glare became fiercer as his eyes zoned in on the number 25 inked in red.

_Christmas._

Damian hated Christmas. He  _loathed_  it. He  _despised_  it. Because on Christmas he was expected to give gifts. He would need to give a gift each to Dick and his father, if nothing else.

The problem was with Dick.

Damian knew that his self-proclaimed brother would be grateful for– even pleasantly surprised by – whatever he gave him. And  _that_  was what made it so difficult; he wanted to give Dick something that he  _really_  liked.

Of course, he had a basic understanding of what Dick liked – good food, comedy movies – but he wanted to give something  _special_. Something that Dick would remember, and, more importantly, something that would stand out amongst all of the other gifts Dick would receive. Knowing approximately the number of friends his brother had collected over the years, Damian had no doubt that Dick would be getting  _many_ gifts for Christmas.

' _Oh, screw this,'_  Damian thought angrily. All of this thinking had given him a massive headache. He would simply ask Dick himself what he wanted. It would be like pulling off a Band-aid, he mused. The faster you got it done, the less bothersome it would be.

Damian stomped off Dick's room, looking more like he was planning to murder someone, with the determined scowl that was etched on his face, rather than asking a simple question.

* * *

Arms crossed across his chest and foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, Damian was the perfect image of impatience. "If you could ask for one thing, and one thing only, what would it be?" he demanded, without any preamble.

It showed how used to Damian Dick was that instead of blurting the first thing that came into his mind – probably something along the lines of "What are you talking about?" – he simply blinked. Damian could tell that Dick wanted to know more about Damian's seemingly out of the blue question, but since their partnership – however brief it had been – Dick had learned never to answer Damian's questions with questions of his own.

So after a moment, he answered, "Jason."

Damian frowned. For the briefest moment he felt a pang of… hurt strike his heart. ' _Aren_ _'_ _t I enough?'_  he wanted to ask, but he clamped his mouth shut and pushed the hurt aside, resolutely. "Fine," he nodded curtly, all-business like. He was about to turn and leave, mind already whirling with what he needed to prepare, when he felt Dick's hand on his upper arm. The grip was gentle yet firm enough that Damian could not simply shrug it off.

"Hey," Dick's voice was soft as he turned Damian around so they could talk face to face. "It's not that I don't want  _you_ , because I do," he threw a grin at Damian, who rolled his eyes.

' _Leave it to Dick to be so damn cheesy_ ,' Damian thought, not fondly though not unkindly either. His body automatically began to relax.

"It's just… It'd be nice to have everyone around for the holidays," Dick smiled wistfully, "but since you said I could only ask for one thing…" he trailed off. A hint of a smirk could be seen on Damian's face, but before he could make some snarky remark about favoritism, Dick continued. "No, I'm not playing favorites. The reason I chose Jay is because, out of everyone, he's the hardest one to convince to come back home."

"And when you say convince, you mean blackmail, right?" Damian asked, an eyebrow raised haughtily, lips tugged up in a grin.

Dick rolled his eyes, though he smiled fondly. "I mean  _persuade_ ," he deadpanned.

"Of course," Damian drawled condescendingly.

Dick shook his head. "Yeah, it would be… nice to have him back," he admitted quietly, lowering his eyes, his smile fading for the briefest moment. "But, hey, you can't always get what you want," he finished too cheerfully. Damian merely stared, unimpressed, at the wide grin plastered back on his face, so Dick let the smile fade. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. Damian frowned. It was as though Dick was tired of hoping, and yet he could not help  _but_  hope. Damian knew Dick was too stubborn to give up on anyone, let alone one of his so-called brothers. Dick was stupid that way.

Dick's hope would be in  _vain_ , if left to chance.

But Damian would not leave it to chance. He would interfere, and he would  _not_ fail. If Todd was what Dick wanted for Christmas, then it was Todd he would get.

"Okay," Damian said, gray-blue eyes steely in determination. "Considered it done." With that he turned around and walked away, leaving a confused Dick behind.

"Huh? What  _was_  that about?"

* * *

**December 2**

When Jason had started his patrol, he had hoped that it would be just a normal night. First he would find some stupid criminals to beat (and kill if their crimes warranted it). Then, knowing his luck (which was rotten to the core), he would cross paths with some members of his so-called family (namely Bruce and the Demon Brat, maybe even Golden Boy). He would spit out insults and fire bullets in their general direction, to prove he had not gone soft. If he missed every one of his targets on purpose, no one needed to know.

If it was Goldie, there was a good chance he would ask Jason to come home. This was an offer Jason had always refused and he would continue to do so. He did not understand why Goldie kept asking; for someone supposedly so smart, Dick could be so damn stupid. Then again, maybe it was not stupidity motivating him, but the sheer stubbornness that ran through all members of the bat-family.

The two of them would banter for awhile, throwing insults back and forth, which would end with a smirking Jason and a sulking Goldie, and if the Demon Brat was around he'd get offended on Goldie's behalf and attack him. Jason would win,  _of fucking course_ , and while he would move to kill the Brat (even if the attempt was half-hearted at best) Goldie would stop him. The night would end with Jason beating a tactical retreat. The routine, or variations thereof, was not ideal, far from it, but at least he knew what he could expect.

So when Demon Brat came to him  _alone_  (how the boy was able to lose both Batman and Nightwing, Jason did not know), he knew that his hope for a normal night had not merely been dashed, but also stomped and spat on, and left to die a slow and painful death.

"What do you want?" Jason was not in the mood to beat around the bush. The only reason he did not attack Brat right away was because the number of attempts the kid had made on his life had lessened significantly lately. Jason was merely returning the favor.

Jason would not say he was surprised – no,  _of course_  not, not at all – when instead of answering his question, Brat brandished a katana. The kid pointed the sword it at Jason with a smirk on his face before he dashed forward, slashing in a wide horizontal arc.

Jason sighed as he ducked. "I thought I was your favorite brother after Dickie bird, Brat?" he asked, not even trying to hide the mocking tone in his voice. He flipped backwards as he pulled a blade from its sheath on his back. Brat was using a katana, so it was only right for Jason to use his own long knife instead of one of his guns. Not that he was going to go easy on the kid. Jason was an honorable person with a strict sense of fairness, the fact that he was fighting someone much smaller than him, notwithstanding.

"My favorite? You wish," Brat snorted derisively as he went once more on the offensive; this time, aiming for the stomach. Jason sidestepped the attack, effortlessly. He raised his arm, planning to strike the back of Brat's head with the handle of his knife, but the Brat quickly rolled forward and Jason's hand met nothing but air. Demon Brat got to his feet in one fluid movement, smirking smugly at Jason. "I merely tolerate your presence."

Jason's trigger finger twitched in annoyance. He was itching to simply take one of his guns and empty its clip on Brat, but he suppressed the urge. Killing the boy was  _not_  an option. Though Jason had no problem hurting the kid, that would just anger Dickie Bird, which was Bad (with capital B. No, he was  _not_  exaggerating). He wouldn't say he was  _afraid_  of his self-proclaimed older brother, but then Dickie bird was not called 'the scariest mother hen on this side of the galaxy' for nothing.

As if reading Jason's thought, Brat's grin became even smugger. Then, with a surprising burst of speed, he charged, the katana in his hand reduced to a blurry flash of steel.

Jason would have been caught off guard, had he not been trained by Batman. As it was though, he was ready for practically everything. So instead of panicking he stayed calm, dodging the attacks smoothly while his eyes assessed the situation, looking for any little opening Brat might have left. Unfortunately, there was none. Being forced to be on the defensive annoyed the hell out of him, but Jason refused to let his anger control him.

Sooner or later the kid would make a mistake. Then, and only then, would Jason strike back. It was going to be so sweet, he could already taste it... He just hoped it would be sooner, rather than later. His patience, however little there was to begin with, was wearing thin, and fast.

Fortunately, just when he was about to snap –  _To hell with Dickie bird! I am_ _ **so**_ _going to kill the kid!_ – Brat leapt back, quickly putting some distance between them.

And for a moment, there they stood, staring at each other with eyes narrowed in suspicion, Brat with his katana gripped tightly in one hand and Jason crouched in a defensive stance with a blade of his own, his hand itching to reach for his gun.

"Why can't you just stand still!" Brat growled, pointing his weapon at Jason. If Jason didn't know any better, he would say Brat was whining. For one bizarre moment, he thought the spawn of Satan might start stomping his feet like a kid throwing a tantrum. Brat did not. He merely tightened his grip on his katana.

Jason raised an eyebrow. Despite his earlier anger, the situation was beginning to amuse him. After all, it was not every day you saw the Demon Brat acting like a real child. "And let you run me through with your oversized toothpick?" Jason asked, hoping to rile the kid up. "Nope," he said, popping the 'p', "I don't need any new holes in my body, thank you very much."

Brat glowered. "But I don't plan to kill you," he said, as if it justified his earlier attacks. He sounded like he was sulking. Probably because he was. "Not yet anyway." Though the words were muttered under the boy's breath, Jason heard them anyway. He decided to not call the kid on it. At least for now.

"So," Jason drawled in the way that he knew annoyed the Brat. To his satisfaction, Brat was already starting to grind his teeth in irritation. "If you don't want to kill me, what do you want from me?" he asked, humoring the little rascal.

"I want to give you to Dick," the kid said with a serious expression on his face. Even by the bat family's standards, the Brat's answer was just plain bizarre. In fact, it was so  _mind-numbingly_  bizarre that, for a moment, all Jason could do was stare at him.

Then Jason's lips began to twitch and not a second later, he started to laugh. He wrapped his arms around his middle as he doubled over, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Had he worn his helmet tonight he would be risking suffocation.

The Demon Brat scowled, though, if Jason squinted he could see a touch of red coloring his cheeks. "I'm serious," the kid said, standing his ground.

"I know," Jason wheezed between bursts of roaring laughter "That makes it all the more funny." Once his laughter had died down, he began wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. "Okay, so let's pretend for a second that you are actually able to beat me." His eyes flashed then, dark and dangerous, but with the barest trace of genuine mirth. "What would you do, hm? Shove me in a box and give me to Dickie Bird as some sort of offering?" he asked, sarcasm coating every word.

Brat blinked. For a second, he looked like an innocent kid. Jason snorted at the thought. The little rascal might still be a kid, but he was anything but innocent.

"Not an offering," Brat answered slowly, as if Jason was retarded ( _'More like the other way around_ ,' Jason thought heatedly). "A gift," he continued, before elaborating, "a  _Christmas_  gift."

Jason bit his lip, trying hard not tolaugh. Okay, that was a lie. He wasn't trying all that hard.

"What's so funny?" the Brat demanded, while throwing a few batarangs Jason's way.

Laughing still, Jason leapt, tumbling gracelessly, out of the way. "You do realize that when Dickie Bird said he wanted me as a present, he did not mean it literally, right?" he asked, once he had gotten his laughter under control.

Silence ensued.

"How do you know he did not mean it literally?" Brat asked, the crinkling of his mask indicating the narrowing of the eyes behind it.

Jason just stared. And stared. And stared some more. He wondered if the Brat might be pulling his leg. After all, even  _he_ knew that kidnapping people and wrapping them up as presents was  _wrong_. But Brat said nothing. He merely waited for Jason's answer with one hand on his hip.

"You're not… You can't be…" Jason was at a loss for words. He shook his head in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me!" he cried out, throwing up his arms in frustration. "I know you're an amateur when it comes to being social—" though the Brat was glaring menacingly at him, Jason ignored it, "but you can't be  _that_ inept. Surely, you _know_ that it's  _not normal_  to give people as gifts?!"

"Because our lives are the perfect image of normalcy, right?" Demon Brat asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up, brat!" Jason barked, trying to sound angry but unable to hide his grin. While fighting always lifted his mood, trading insults back and forth felt just as satisfying. "I'm trying to  _help_  here!"

"Right, with all your relationship experience."

"Well, at least I know what a guy means when he asks for another person for Christmas!"

Brat scowled. "Then, will you kindly explain to me what he meant, oh  _master_?" he asked, voice tinged, no,  _drenched_  in sarcasm. But Jason knew it was the boy's way of  _actually_  asking for advice. So rather than taking offence, he simply grinned and put his knife back in its sheath. The little rascal did the same with his own weapon, while narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Then, warily, with his shoulder hunched defensively, he moved closer to Jason.

Jason rolled his eyes. "Relax, kid. I said I wanted to help, didn't I?"

"You are not the most trustworthy person, Todd," was Brat's smartass reply.

"Yet, here you are asking for  _my_  help," Jason pointed out with a smug smirk.

"I  _have not_ asked for your help."

"Of course not," Jason said, patting Brat's head patronizingly. In a second, the boy had his katana back in his hand, making a vertical swipe in an attempt to sever Jason's hand. Expecting the attack, Jason pulled his hand away fast, grinning all the while. "Now, now, if you don't behave, I won't help you," he tutted, wiggling his fingers in front of the Brat's face.

Although the little punk glared heatedly back at him, he re-sheathed his katana. "Okay, the first thing you need to know is…" Jason trailed off, blinking. There was one itty bitty detail that had escaped his attention while he was busy fighting  _and_  laughing at the Brat. "Wait, did Dickie Bird really say he wants  _me_  for Christmas?" he asked, curious despite himself.

Brat crossed his arms across his chest before answering, matter-of-factly. "I asked him what he would have if he could have one wish. He said he wanted you. Apparently you are, and I quote, 'the hardest one to convince to come back home.'" He glared menacingly at Jason, as if he were the one at fault for Dick's wish to have him back.

But Jason was too busy trying to deal with the sudden warm, fuzzy feeling that had taken hold of him to notice the Brat's glare. He quickly squashed the feeling down and shook his head to reorient himself. "Okay," he said, slinging an arm around the kid's shoulders. Demon Brat narrowed his eyes at him, though he said nothing. And even if he was as stiff as a board, he did not try to shrug Jason's arm off.

It seemed the Brat was truly in dire need of his help if he was willing to put up with Jason's usual bullshit.

Jason grinned from ear to ear. "The first thing you need to know is," he repeated, nodding sagely, "that when Dickie Bird said he wanted me as a present, he did not mean it literally."

"What did he mean then?" Brat asked, radiating genuine confusion with furrowed brows and his head tilted to expectantly to the side.

"He just wants me to…" Jason trailed off, not quite sure how to finish that particular sentence. ' _Come home,'_  his brain supplied, rather unhelpfully. The Manor was  _not_  his home. It had not been his home for quite some time. He searched for another way to say it. "… come to the Manor for Christmas."

"Oh." was all the Brat said, his face lowered and shoulders bowed. He looked so crestfallen that Jason could not help but feel a rush of sympathy.

_'This is all Dick_ _'s fault_ _, anyway,'_  Jason thought viciously, soothing himself by blaming his 'older brother.'  _He should_ _'_ _ve known that Dami—the Brat is socially challenged and that he'd take him literally. Wasn_ _'_ _t he Da—the Demon Brat_ _'_ _s mentor?_

Jason was so deep in thought that it took him seconds to realize that Damian was staring at him. Intensely.

"What?" Jason asked gruffly, though his tone was softer than usual.

Damian said nothing. His eyes were locked on Jason's face and his head was tilted to the side in a sure sign that he was thinking.

' _Just like Dick,'_  Jason could not help but notice.

"If Dick wants you home," Damian started slowly, as if he wanted to make sure that every word he said came out right, "shouldn't I bring you home," he continued, gaining more confidence as he went on, "by any means necessary?" there was no trace of uncertainty left in his voice as he looked his 'brother' in the eye.

Jason did not like the look on Damian's face. Not. At. All. "It won't work," he said in an eerily cheerful voice. His smile was far too wide to be considered normal.

Damian frowned. "Why not?" There was the hint of a challenge in his stance.

Jason rolled his eyes. ' _Waynes and their pride,'_  he thought snidely. There was a traitorous whisper in the back of his mind about pots and kettle, but he ignored it. "Because you can't beat me," he said, tilting his head back arrogantly and his earlier fake smile morphing into a smug grin.

Damian narrowed his eyes. "I can," he insisted.

Jason rolled his eyes again. Apparently, stubbornness also ran in the Wayne family. ' _Which makes you a Wayne,'_ the same voice from before chimed in cheerfully. He pushed it to the darkest corner of his mind. "And even if you could, your plan wouldn't work anyway." His smug grin had yet to fade. Damian opened his mouth, about to argue, no doubt, but Jason continued before the boy could get in a word. "Because I plan on coming back, anyway. By my own will. Which means you can't claim me as your gift." Jason smiled sweetly as Damian glowered up at him.

Then Damian pouted.

… Wait, what? Jason took a second look.

Damian  _was_ pouting, his arms crossed against his chest, his lower lip jutted out and… were those tears in his eyes or was that just a trick of the light?

_'Aw.'_  And now Jason felt bad, like he had just kicked a puppy. A rabid puppy that would bite with you its razor-sharp teeth, sure, but a puppy nonetheless.

"Don't worry about it, kid. I have an idea," the words came out before Jason could stop himself. Damian's head snapped up to look at him, the hope in his eyes so painfully clear that Jason wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "Did you know that some people value handmade gifts far more than anything you can buy? And Dickie Bird's definitely one of those people."

Damian's eyes widened as if he had never thought about it before. And maybe he never had; Jason was pretty sure the kid had never celebrated Christmas before he came to Gotham. That was probably one big reason Damian hadn't mastered the art of gift giving. Jason imagined being raised as an assassin was another.

"What could I make for him?" Damian asked, looking at Jason as much reverence as if he had hung the moon in the sky.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He could handle people looking at him with fear in their eyes – he was used to it – but admiration?

"A scarf?" Jason blurted out. It was the first thing that had come to his mind, and he winced when he realized how stupid it was. He expected the kid to scowl at him, or even punch him in the face (and he would take it too, because he deserved it), but, to his surprise, Damian's face lit up.

"That makes sense." Damian nodded in agreement. "Gotham is always cold anyway, so he can use it any time of the year."

"Er." was all Jason could say. He did not have the heart to tell the kid what he really thought of his idea, so he said nothing.

"Thank you," Damian said in far too serious a tone, nodding gratefully. It made Jason's skin itch. Who taught this kid how to thank people so properly?

"Um, don't mention it," Jason said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He was eager to put their conversation, or better yet, this whole night, behind him.

"Is... Is there anything  _you_  want for…" Damian trailed off, awkwardly.

Jason wanted to say,  _'Joker_ _'_ _s head on a silver plate,'_ but, fortunately, he was able to stop himself in the nick of time. He thought of Dick's wish, the one that had started this whole fiasco in the first place. "Nothing," he said instead, forcing a smile to his lips.

Damian did not press the issue, he merely looked Jason up and down, his sharp eyes assessing the man in front of him critically. "I must say you could do with a new jacket," he said in the end, with a smirk.

"Whatever, brat," Jason shot back. His insult lacked the usual heat. There was exasperation in his voice and, maybe, a little fondness. Only a little.

**To be continued...**


	2. How It Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick finally got his present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to: As always, my darling beta, BookJunkie!
> 
> And my silly story comes to an end. Without further ado, enjoy!
> 
> Sorry it took me such a long time to update here. (I have to admit, I care more about my account on FFn, since that is where I started posting fanfic...) So, sorry for the (super) long wait.

**December 20**

Dick had come to expect trouble every time Tim stayed over at the Manor in recent years. If anyone asked him for the reason behind this uncharacteristic pessimism, he would say that he was just being realistic. Anyone who knew Tim and Damian would know that putting them under the same roof – no matter how large the roof (and the Manor's roof  _was_   **huge** )– was bound to end in disaster.

So when he heard a ruckus that morning as he was just sitting down to breakfast – Damian screaming angrily and a cacophony of things thudding against the wall, something falling  _and_ breaking – he was not surprised. In fact, he was relieved. He was more scared of the times when Tim and Damian did  _not_ fight. His youngest brothers fighting meant that everything was right with the world. The day that those two stopped fighting and started working together would be the day that Dick would have to prepare for the coming apocalypse.

But today was not that day. Today he had to deal with two younger brothers trying to kill each other. Well, Damian trying to kill Tim and Tim trying to defend himself.

He looked across the table at Bruce, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "I'll handle Damian and you Tim?" he asked, though it wasn't much of a question.

Bruce nodded. They stood up and, without wasting any more time, followed the crashing noises to Damian's room. Walking down the hallway they could hear Damian's angry – and, if Dick's instincts were right, embarrassed – shouts and Tim's… laughter?

Dick frowned as he looked questioningly at Bruce. "Is Tim… laughing?" he voiced his thought out loud.

"I really hope he's not goading Damian," Bruce said, a matching frown on his face, muttering, "he's supposed to be smarter than that," under his breath.

A smile blossomed on Dick's face. "Keyword:  _supposed_  to be."

When they reached Damian's room, the door was half open already. Dick knocked – if only to give an example to Damian that he  _should_  before entering someone's room – and pushing the door open. He opened his mouth, ready to, as Damian liked to put it, _lecture_ his younger brothers, but the words died in his throat at the strange scene that was before him. He blinked. Nothing changed. Dick had seen some crazy things in the years he had spent as a vigilante, few things fazed him anymore. The scene in his little brother's room was one of those things.

"What happened?" Dick asked, not even bothering to hide the incredulity in his voice. He looked first at Damian standing in front of Tim, his small shoulders shaking in repressed anger and his hands clenched so tight his knuckles were white. Then Dick's gaze fell on Tim, whose hair was askew and whose face was red. Despite Damian's looming glare, Tim was still wheezing with laughter.

Tim was pinned to the wall by what seemed to be… "Knitting needles?" Dick blinked owlishly, too shocked to say anything else. His eyes zoomed in on bright yellow and blue wool strings circling Tim's neck and wrists – serving as a makeshift rope apparently – and he wondered how he missed them at first glance.

Damian's eyes flickered to Dick, then Bruce, before he looked down to glare at the floor as if willing it to spontaneously combust.

"Let me guess," Bruce said blandly, though Dick thought he caught a glimpse of amusement in his father's eyes. "You," he looked pointedly at Damian, "have taken up a new hobby and you," he turned to look at Tim, "mocked him for it."

"Right on the first guess, Bruce," Tim said, grinning cheekily. "There  _is_ a reason why you're the greatest detective alive."

Bruce snorted at that, though he said nothing more.

"Damian," Dick said in a warning tone, one hand on his hip. "What do I always say about trying to kill people, especially our own family?"

"That I should know better not to leave any evidence that wasn't just an  _accident_?" Damian replied innocently. He tried to smile sweetly up at his mentor, but the effect was ruined by the predatory gleam shining in his gray-blue eyes.

Dick groaned, slapping his head. Bruce snorted and Tim guffawed, not seeming to be bothered by the fact that he was still pinned to the wall. By freaking  _knitting needles_.

Dick glared at them both before he focused on Damian once again. "Damian, apologize to Tim for trying to kill him," he said, sternly.

"But he started it!" Damian protested, pointing an accusing finger at Tim.

Dick turned to Tim then and said, "Tim, apologize to Damian. You should know better than to make fun of your own little brother."

"But—" Tim clamped his mouth shut when he saw the look on Dick's face. He sighed heavily. "Fine," he grumbled. "Sorry I laughed at you, brat," he said half-heartedly.

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing that an apology laced with an insult was the best that he would get. Bruce patted his shoulder in sympathy.

"Damian?"

"Sorry I failed to kill you, Drake," Damian cooed sweetly. "Next time I won't fail." He gave Tim a toothy grin.

Dick cuffed the back of Damian's head. Damian glared at him and Dick glared right back, daring his little brother to argue. Damian huffed but he did not protest. "Sorry, Drake," he grumbled. "I should've gagged you while I had the chance," he mumbled under his breath.

Dick rolled his eyes, but he chose to let it slide. Though Bruce raised his eyebrows at him, Dick just shrugged in "what can I do?" gesture. Damian might listen to him about some things, but certainly not everything.

"You're his father," Dick pointed out. "You should be dealing with him."

"And you're his mother in anything but blood," Bruce shot back, looking at Dick with a smug grin on his face that dared him to argue.

"Does that mean I'm your wife now, as well as your son?" Dick deadpanned. "Which do  _you_  prefer: dad or hubbie?"

"While I enjoy watching you two bicker like an old married couple," Tim spoke up loudly, earning a mean glare from Dick that he ignored, "I could use a little help here." To emphasize his point, Tim pulled pathetically at his stuck wrists. Sighing, Dick went to free Tim. He couldn't help but be impressed at Damian's aim. The boy had been able to get all of the needles through Tim's long-sleeved sweater without nicking his skin. Dick whistled as he complimented his little brother.

Damian looked pleased at himself, while Bruce just looked exasperated. "Dick," he chided, "I don't think Damian needs any more encouragement."

"I'm not encouraging him," Dick denied, without looking up from his task of untangling Tim's bindings.

Bruce rolled his eyes, but did not push the issue. "Come on, Damian," he said, placing his hands on Damian's shoulders to steer him out of the room.

"Damian," Tim called when they were halfway out at the door.

Damian stopped in his tracks and looked back over his shoulder.

"You should use the color black too," Tim said seriously, looking him in the eye. When Damian stayed silent, he continued, "Yellow for what he was, blue for what he is, and black for the darkness that's always there that no one sees."

Damian stayed silent for a moment before murmuring quietly, "No one but us."

Tim nodded. "No one but us."

Then Damian was out of the room and the door closed behind him.

"What was that about?" Dick asked, his eyes momentarily flickering to meet Tim's. He kept his tone mild, though he knew how serious the exchange he'd just witnessed between his younger brothers had been by Tim's use of Damian's real name.

"Just a little friendly advice," Tim answered, shrugging his one currently free shoulder.

"Since when do you give 'friendly advice' to Damian?"

"Let me think about it…" Tim rubbed his chin, furrowing his brows in an exaggerated way. "Maybe when Jason started giving the Brat free advice?" he said, grinning wickedly.

Dick choked. "What?" he squeaked in disbelief.

"You heard me."

Dick spluttered, for a moment, not quite knowing what to  _think,_  let alone what to say. Then all he could think about was that Jason and Damian had recently been alone for who knew how long, doing goodness knew what. Granted, his Baby Bird did not seem injured and he hadn't been acting strange, or, at least, any  _stranger_  than usual. Except for…

Damian's new hobby.

Dick's eyes narrowed. "You don't think it was  _Jason_  who convinced Little D to start knitting, do you?"

"Anything is possible when it comes to Jason," Tim answered, shrugging.

Dick hummed his agreement. "Maybe it's time for a friendly visit."

Tim snickered. "Sure is."

* * *

**December 22**

Looking back, Jason knew he shouldn't have been surprised. After all, Dickie the Mother Hen never strayed far from his so-called Baby Bird, even now that they were no longer partners. Still, when Jason came back to his not-so-secret apartment to find his older brother seated primly on his only couch, Jason couldn't help but feel annoyed.

His right eye twitching, Jason took his gun from its holster and pointed it at Dick's temple. "Out," he growled, menacingly.

Dick was unfazed. He merely raised a hand in greeting, "Good evening to you too, Jay," he said way too cheerfully. "Or is it good morning now?"

Jason rolled his eyes at Dick's sarcasm, lowering his gun, but not putting it down. Dick seemed not to notice as he settled more comfortably on the couch.  _'Or he simply doesn't care_. _'_  That was probably closer to the truth; for all the bad blood between them, Dick seemed to trust Jason not to kill him.  _'Which is stupid_ ,' Jason thought.

And he told Dick as much. But Dick merely waved his hand dismissively.

"I'm touched by your concern—"

"I'm  _not_ worried!" Jason denied vehemently.

His protest fell on deaf ears as Dick continued, "But I'm sure I'm in no danger whatsoever from you."

"And how can you be so sure, hm?"

"Because Damian would be sad if I died," Dick said simply.

Jason narrowed his eyes. "And you think I would care about the Brat's feelings?"

"Aw, don't be shy, Jay," Dick cooed in a sickeningly sweet voice that made Jason's trigger finger twitch. "You cared about him enough to give him an advice."

"It was to save myself!"

"You don't even deny it!" Dick crowed triumphantly.

Jason could feel his face flush with anger and embarrassment. He knew perfectly well that now the metaphorical cat was out of the bag. There was just no way for him to deny Dick's accusation after his blunder. So instead he yelled, "Out!" and threw the closest thing to him – a mug – at Dick's head.

Cackling, Dick leapt away, effortlessly dodging the projectile. "And while I don't understand why you got him knitting, it's not that bad of a hobby." Jason was ready to resort to (even more) violence, but it seemed that, for once, Dick knew when he had overstayed his welcome. Perched on the sill of the open window he called back "Oh, and Jay?" Meeting his brother's eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips, Dick finished, "Thank you."

Then, before Jason could respond, Dick jumped. Hands balled at his side, jaws clenched tight, and face as red as a tomato, Jason cursed up a storm. "Goddamn mother hen!"

* * *

**December 24**

Dick loved Christmas. He loved the Christmas party Bruce would throw – well, more like  _parties_ – and, most importantly, he loved that it was the one time when his family would make an effort to gather together  _and_  act civilly towards one another. Now, if only the criminals of Gotham would make a similar effort, he would be perfectly happy. As it was though, he was spending Christmas Eve chasing after holiday-themed villains.

 _There should be a rule somewhere stating_   _ **thou shall not ruin a holiday, or else**_ _…_  Dick mused darkly, thinking all the bad, bad things he could do to these good-for-nothing criminals as he beat their goons without even bothering to pull his punches.

"Cranky much, 'wing?" Damian called out, imitating Dick's own teasing tone perfectly.

Dick did not even deign to dignify that comment with a response.

* * *

**December 25**

It was breakfast and Dick was glaring at the bacon on his plate, stabbing at it with prejudice. Bruce, who was sitting on Dick's left, turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. "Is there something wrong, Dick?" he asked, his voice calm and even.

"Nothing," Dick muttered, not even looking up at Bruce as he kept mercilessly shredding the strips of bacon.

"Stop sulking, Dick, it's unbecoming," Damian said. Without looking at his little brother, Dick knew the boy was rolling his eyes.

"I'm not," Dick denied half-heartedly, "I just wish that the girls were here. Or Jason. Or both. Preferably both."

"Jason will come."

For a moment, every who had heard him froze. Then Dick turned to look at Damian, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. There was naked hope in his eyes that he could not quite hide. "What makes you say that?" he asked tentatively.

"He said he will come," was Damian's simple answer. When Dick, along with Bruce and Tim, merely stared at him incredulously, Damian continued, "A few weeks ago when I went to fetch him—"

"'Fetch'?" Tim echoed, frowning.

"Well, he refused when I asked him to come home, so I tried to subdue him—"

"Dami, please tell me that by 'subdue' you don't mean 'attack'," Dick said, worry written all over his face. Bruce said nothing, but judging from his deep frown, he had the same worry.

"And Jason beat you, naturally," Tim said.

Damian scowled. "He did not!" he argued. "It was a draw."

Before they could delve into an argument, Bruce asked, "And why did you seek Jason out in the first place? Alone, I might add?"

Damian's eyes darted around, avoiding Bruce's gaze. "Dick said he wanted Jason as his Christmas gift," he mumbled.

And just like that, Bruce and Tim's attention was on Dick. "What? I didn't mean it literally!" Dick cried out in his defence.

"You didn't say that," Damian said sulkily.

"But it was obvious!"

"No, it wasn't!"

"But— You know what, no. I'm sorry I didn't explicitly tell you to not kidnap Jay," Dick said finally, to put an end to the stupid argument.

Then the doorbell rang.

They all looked at each other, no one making a move to answer it. Bruce seemed to not know whether to smile or grimace.  _'_ _If Tim plus Damian equal_ _s disaster, then add Jason to the equation and you'll get the end of the world as we know it,'_  Dick thought, all the while grinning from ear-to-ear. Dick could tell that Tim was just as excited as he was, but his younger brother was trying to hide it. Damian was simply looking smug.

The doorbell rang again and Dick stood from his chair so abruptly that it fell over as ran to the front door.

"Dick, don't run in the house!" Bruce yelled after him.

"Okay!" Dick yelled back, without slowing down. He almost ripped the door off of its hinge in his eagerness to open it. The smile on his face widened at the sight of Jason standing before him. "Jay!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms out as if ready to hug the rogue bird.

Jason sidestepped neatly, ensuring that Dick caught nothing but air. Then without hesitation, he took his gun from its holster and pointed it his brother's head. "If you try that again, I'll shoot you," he said simply.

Dick pouted.

Jason rolled his eyes, but put his gun back in its holster.

"Why come home if not for hugs and kisses?" Dick whined his protest, hands moving animatedly to emphasize his point.

Jason snorted. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't do hugs and kisses," he pointed out. "Besides, I just came to see whether or not the Brat's going to give you his  _special_ gift." He smirked knowingly.

"Are you saying you only came for Damian? You wound me!" Dick cried out, one hand clutching his chest dramatically while the other wiped imaginary tears from his cheek, grinning all the while.

Jason rolled his eyes as he moved to punch Dick in the shoulder. Laughing, Dick sidestepped the attack.

"Master Jason, welcome home," Alfred, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, greeted, bowing his head slightly.

"Not my home," Jason grumbled in a weak denial.

Neither Dick nor Alfred felt the need to respond.

"The others are still dining," Alfred informed Jason. "And need I remind you that no weapons are allowed in this house?" he asked politely. Alfred never needed to yell or shout to be obeyed.

Begrudgingly, Jason gave his gun to Alfred.

"Thank you. Now, if you two will please follow me."

As they walked behind the butler Dick's eyes were glued to Jason. "You came!"

"I did," Jason grunted. "What of it?"

"When Damian said he got you as a gift for me, I thought he was kidding," Dick chuckled, shaking his head at the youngest bird's antics.

Jason stopped in his tracks.

Dick turned to him. "Jay?" he called, head tilted quizzically.

"I did not come as the Brat's gift," Jason said quietly. "He planned to beat me and wrap me in a box for you, a nice bow on top," he explained, grinning at the memory of that particular conversation. "As if I would have let him," he snorted.

"Then why did you…"

"The Brat was stubborn as all hell," Jason said, giving Dick the stink eye.

"Don't look at me like that, he got it from Bruce," Dick raised his arms in a gesture of surrender.

"As if you're not just as stubborn," Jason said, daring Dick to deny him.

Dick suppressed the urge to point out that Jason was the most stubborn of them all. They could – and probably would – argue all day long if he chose to pursue it. So instead he steered the conversation back to the topic they had been discussing before. "So in order to ruin Damian's plan, which I have to admit was not the most logical, you said you would come home on your own?" he asked.

"If I came willingly, the Brat couldn't claim me as his gift, could he?" Jason asked back.

Dick raised his eyebrows. For a moment, he was speechless. Then he regained his composure and shook his head, smiling in amusement. "Sometimes I wonder how your brain works, Jay. Then I remember it's you and that it's better if I don't know," he said, chuckling quietly.

Jason scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dick grinned. "It means we need to get to the dining room before the others come looking."

Jason's scowl deepened, but he said nothing more.

* * *

Surprisingly enough, breakfast did not end with a food fight. Then again Alfred had  _strongly suggested_ that the boys should be, at the least, civil towards one another and that he was 'too old to deal with their antics. "I'm afraid my heart wouldn't be able to take it," he'd said. And, most frightening of all, he'd whispered – loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear him – "Maybe I should take a few days off."

After breakfast, Jason dragged Dick to the living room where the tree was stood, all the gifts piled underneath it. Damian was right behind them, a dark scowl on his face, while Bruce and Tim followed at a more sedate pace. At the back of the line was Alfred, ready to play peacemaker. Or babysitter.

"My, my, eager, aren't we?" Dick could not help but tease.

"I told you I only came here to see the Brat gives you his gift," Jason retorted. Ignoring proper protocol – and Alfred's horrified "Master Jason!" – he started digging through the pile of gifts under the tree, letting out a triumphant, "Aha!" once he found a box wrapped in plain yellow wrapping paper. He pushed it into Dick's hands.

Looking down at the gift, Dick grumbled softly, "I don't even want to know how you knew this one's from Dami." His eyes flickered to Damian who stood nearby. The boy's small hands were balled tightly at his side and a fierce scowl was on his face.

"Aw, I didn't know you two were so close," Tim mocked as he took a seat one end of the couch. Bruce sat silently on the other side. If Dick squinted, he could just make out the smile pulling at Bruce's lips.

"Shut up!" Jason and Damian hissed simultaneously, glaring daggers at Tim.

Tim was not fazed. "Will you look at that, Dick? The rogue bird and the demon brat from Hell have bonded! How touching." He batted his eyelashes, grinning from ear to ear.

"Shut up, Drake! Or I will—" Damian started. But before he could put his threat to words, Dick cut him off.

"You'll do nothing," Dick said evenly, but firmly. Jason smirked. And before the so-called rogue bird could chirp in, Dick continued, "And neither will you, Jay." Not-so-subtly, Dick's gaze went to Alfred, who was smiling serenely from his spot behind Bruce.

Damian looked away, while Jason grunted, both chastised.

"Why are you so curious about Dami's gift for me, anyway?" Dick asked Jason as he went to unwrap the gift. The process was slow because he didn't want to tear the paper. Dick pretended not to see when Jason rolled his eyes. He knew Jason thought of him as a sentimental idiot, but he did not care. Damian  _very_  rarely went out of his way to show his affection, so, no matter how small, every gift Damian gave was a treasure to Dick. Which meant Dick would treat it as such, including the wrapping paper.

"Are you playing stupid or do you really not have a clue what it is?" Tim asked, arching an eyebrow.

" _Of course_ , I know what it is. I'm  _pretend_ _ing_  not to know because I like messing with you all," Dick said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Jason snickered. When Bruce and Damian both snorted their eyes met briefly. Damian averted his gaze, though the small grin on his lips stayed.

"And people wonder where I get the smartassery," Tim chuckled, shaking his head.

"Not from me, that's for sure," Dick chirped.

"Sure, Dick, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night," was Tim's easy answer.

Finally the wrapping paper was off. The first thing Dick noticed about the Gift – which he felt deserved a capital G – was how soft it looked. He touched it and found that it really was as soft as he thought it would be. Then he noticed the coloring: blue, yellow, and black. Tim's words a few weeks ago finally made sense.

_Yellow for what he was, blue for what he is and black for the darkness that is always there, but no one sees._

Slowly, as if it would break if he did not treat it with the utmost care, he took the Gift out of its box and showed it to his family. "A scarf," Dick breathed in wonder, his eyes never leaving the present in his hands.

In the background, Jason was crowing and Tim was cackling, but Dick didn't hear either of them. At least, not until Jason said, "A  _handmade_ scarf!"

Dick's head snapped up to look at Jason. "What?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "You heard me, dickhead."

Dick turned to Damian, who was looking at anywhere but at him. The boy's shoulders were hunched, his back tense, as if readying himself for a fight. Or, worse, a rejection.

That would not do. Dick quickly moved to show Damian how much he appreciated the gift he gave him. "I love it," he said, beaming down at his little brother. He wasn't lying. The scarf was soft (though how Damian knew which wool so it would not itch, Dick had no idea), and Dick wasted no time in wrapping it around his neck. That was when he found out that there was one problem with the gift…

Alfred gasped softly. "Oh my…"

"It's too long," Tim pointed out, teasingly.

"Someone was eager," Jason joined.

Damian clenched his hands into fists. Dick knew his youngest brother's patience was about to snap, so he did the first thing that came to his mind: he pulled Damian into a hug. The boy was stunned and before his baby bird could regain his composure, Dick dragged him onto the loveseat. He sat Damian onto his lap, circling an arm around the boy's waist for good measure.

"But it fits," Dick said as he wrapped the too-long scarf around Damian's neck too. "See?" he grinned triumphantly. "It fits perfectly."

Damian grumbled, but he stopped struggling to get off of Dick's lap. Dick counted that as victory.

To avert Damian's attention – and Jason's and Tim's as well – Dick snuggled close to Damian, making sure that it was, as Jason put it, " _way_ too fluffy to watch." As expected, Jason made a gagging noise and looked away, searching for someone else to tease. It was Tim who became Jason's next victim, thus ensuring that Tim's attention was likewise averted.

"You should've let me fight them," Damian said grouchily from his spot on the chair, throwing a death glare at Jason and Tim.

"Hush, Baby Bird, we don't want them to know that we're plotting their demise, now do we?" Dick whispered in Damian's ear.

"So we are plotting now?" Damian asked, skeptically.

"Of course, we are," Dick answered smoothly, "we can't let them get away with making fun of us."

"We can't?" Damian asked, still sounding doubtful, though not as much as before.

"We won't," Dick confirmed.

Even without seeing Damian's face, Dick could imagine the wide grin spreading over his face and the predatory glint in his gray-blue eyes. "I like the way you think." Then in a much softer voice, he said, "I knew there was a reason why I love you."

Dick was taken aback by the admission. He knew the kid liked him, but to hear the real 'L' word coming from Damian's own mouth... He regained his composure quickly. Whether it was intentional or merely a slip of tongue (Dick guessed the former, seeing how red the tips of Damian's ears were becoming), he knew that his little brother would be even more embarrassed if asked to repeat himself. So he let it slide and offered his own confession of affection instead. "Love you too, Little D," he said softly, a gentle smile on his face.

Damian hummed, content to simply lean on Dick's chest. "So, what's your grand plan?" he asked.

Dick had a wicked gleam in his eyes as he whispered his plan to his baby brother. Damian chuckled quietly.

"Sounds good," Damian said, the delight in his voice was unmistakable. He turned his head slightly so he could look Dick in the eye.

"They won't know what hit them," Dick said, his predatory grin matching Damian's own.

Bruce, who had been quietly watching the two of them all this time, raised his eyebrows questioningly in their direction. Alfred shook his head, though he was smiling fondly.

Dick put his forefinger in front of his lips and winked, while Damian narrowed his eyes.

Bruce rolled his eyes, but did not make a move to warn Jason or Tim. Dick beamed at him. He'd always known that, deep down inside, in the darkest corner of his heart, Bruce loved their trouble-making ways. And Alfred… well, Dick was sure he would not mind. After all, the ideas for at least half of Dick's pranks over the years had come from the gentlemanly butler, himself.

* * *

**Epilogue**

**January 5**

Even before he took his suit out, Tim noticed there was something off with it. He realized that the red part of his suit looked… washed off somehow. It suddenly looked more pink than red. He rolled his eyes, knowing who the culprits were even before he read the note taped on the inside of his suit. He read it nonetheless…

_Meanwhile…_

Jason opened the closet where his gear was hidden. A frown creased his face when he noticed that his helmet did not look as dark as usual. In fact…

He brought his helmet out under the light. To his horror, his helmet was no longer dark red – the color of blood – but…

"Pink," Jason deadpanned. He glared down at the helmet in his hands. That was when he noticed the note taped on the inner edge. Frowning, he pulled it off.

_**Technically, pink is just a lighter shade of red ;) – D & d** _

* * *

Bruce found it funny that, despite the vast space that was Gotham city, somehow, some  _way_ , his four sons found each other that night on one lone rooftop in the Crime Alley. Having had a hand in raising them all, he did not even react to Tim's pink suit or the pink domino mask that Jason was wearing. He could only assume that Jason's helmet was a similar shade, and that the boy abandoned it for the lesser evil of the mask.

Bruce paused to examine his sons. Jason was fuming, Dick was smiling, Tim looked resigned, while Damian was grinning smugly.

"Aren't you getting too old to pull these kinds of pranks, 'wing?" Jason hissed angrily.

Tim sighed. "Hood, please, don't give him—"

Damian cleared his throat. Loudly.

Tim rolled his eyes. "— _them_  ideas."

"So, you wouldn't mind if we pulled more elaborate ones?" Damian asked, his tone was sweet, even if his smile was nasty.

"I don't know about him," Tim jabbed a thumb in Jason's direction, "but I certainly would!"

"Hey, you should be grateful we didn't do anything worse," Dick pointed out.

"Like what?" Jason asked through gritted teeth.

"Like making your masks or your suits  _sparkly!_ "

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me!"

Jason shuddered. Tim cringed. Damian chuckled,  _evilly_. That boy was Dick's protégé, through and through.

Dick grinned. "See? It could've been much worse."

Jason glared at Dick. It would have been intimidating if it wasn't surrounded by the pink domino mask. "This means  **war**!" he cried, dramatically.

Unsurprisingly, Dick merely cackled at Jason's declaration. "Oh, bring it on, Little Wing!"

Tim let out another long-suffering sigh before turning to Damian. "Is there any chance you'll be sane enough to not pick a side?" Damian's wide grin was his answer. Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. "Forget about it."

On another rooftop altogether, a safe distance away from his sons' argument, Bruce watched as the beginning of yet another prank war unraveled before his eyes. If the war was anything like the others, he would have to prepare for when it escalated to the point where the four of them decided to shift focus from themselves to join forces against  _him_. And they would. It was only a matter of time.

Well, if things started getting out of hand, surely Alfred would be able to put a stop to it. Wouldn't he?

- **End** -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesh! Finally!
> 
> Thanks you for all of you who have faved/followed my stories/myself. And many thanks to you, reviewers. I don't live to get reviews though I do love them. I squeal with delight when someone tells me that my story can make them laugh/smile. Just so you know, I felt bad for not uploading this sooner. The reason(s) why can be found on yotsunoha. moe (delete the space). Because it was a little way too long for my liking to be put on here.
> 
> Anyway, I also found two artists that let me to use their arts! And those fanarts are great! Finding them (and being let to use them) is like finding the right bride/groom for your children.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone notices Jason stopped calling Damian "Demon Brat" and started calling the kid by his name half way through his part? That WAS intentional.
> 
> I also post this story on my friends' website ( [yotsunoha.moe](http://yotsunoha.moe/playing-santa-part-1/) ) on which you can also find a little bit extra of Behind the Scene. I've always wanted to share some of "Behind the Scene" things. The only reason I never did was because I did not like to write a long A/N.
> 
> And, does anyone here happen to be an artist or know someone who love to do fanarts? I need cover pictures for my stories, including this one. It will be a great help, if you can point me in the right direction, so to speak. Of course, I'll put the artist's name and maybe offer a fic in return. So, anyone can help?
> 
> Standard disclaimer applied.


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